


Eye of the Tiger

by Gin_Juice



Series: picture book [14]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Dysfunctional Family, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Fisticuffs, No Apocalypse, Non-Chronological, Post-Canon, Vomiting, not very graphic though, now with a bonus Five and Vanya adventure!, what century is this, what do you call a praise kink if it's non sexual, why is that part of the tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22753612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gin_Juice/pseuds/Gin_Juice
Summary: “I’m going to be spending a lot of time at the gym for the next few weeks. So you probably won’t see me much.”Nobody looked over at him. He forged ahead anyway."I have a thing. I'm going to be busy.""Okay.""Really busy. Because of the thing.""What is it that you're doing, Diego?"“Nothing major.” He cracked his neck. “Got a fight coming up.”______________________________Maybe his family is stupid and annoying, and maybe none of them really get boxing, but Diego guesses he'll keep them anyway.
Relationships: Diego Hargreeves & Everyone
Series: picture book [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1335751
Comments: 96
Kudos: 352





	1. Eye of the Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series, but you don't have to read previous installments to follow along- Basically, the Apocalypse has been averted, and the kids are working on becoming a real family. After Pogo left the Academy in shame, Diego gave up the boiler room to move back in with his brothers, plus Dave's ghost. Klaus is sober and has gotten very good at keeping Dave and Ben corporeal. Vanya has been a bit reluctant to hang out with the fam, but she's on a pool team and Diego has been playing bodyguard at her away games if they're in parts of town he disapproves of. Also, Ben has a pair of cats!

The gym was more packed than Diego had ever seen it.

There was Al, his old-man gut straining against his suspenders as he pushed into the side of the ring.

Coach Julian, fist squeezed tight around his Saint Nicholas pendant.

A herd of the guys with the purple shirts and gelled hair, howling in dismay as Diego landed an uppercut into his opponent’s jaw.

He danced away, arms up. It would take a second to bounce back from that one, but the kid was quick, and he had a hell of a reach.

No big deal if he missed out on taking a few swings, anyway. This was an endurance game. And if Diego could do anything, it was endure.

His opponent charged, and Diego bounded backwards.

The room turned into snapshots in his peripheral vision. He saw Vanya, wide-eyed at the edge of her seat, and the white flash of Ben’s teeth as he laughed in exhilaration. Daryl way in the back, his casted arm pumping over his head. Al pounding his fist on the canvas and shouting something lost in the cacophony of the ring.

The kid landed a glancing blow off his ribs—that _reach_ —but he barely felt it in the adrenaline of the moment. There was an opening, now, and he sprang forward for the clinch.

The kid panted in his ear as he tried to unlock Diego’s arms from around his shoulders.

“Holding up alright, old man?”

Diego braced for a punch to his stomach and tightened his grip. A voice that might have been Allison’s whooped his name.

“Never better,” he gritted out. “Your mom got me all loosened up before the match.”

The kid swung again at his stomach, harder.

There was sweat in his eyes and trickling in rivulets down his back and he was losing his grip—and the bell sounded.

Round one, down.

He let go. Chest heaving, heart pounding, ribs starting to ache. Klaus was on his feet out in the crowd, shrieking ‘WHOOOOO’ like a fool while Five pushed him aside so he could see, and Diego’s spirits soared.

“DIEGO!”

He could do this.

“DIEGO!”

He _had_ this.

“DIEGO! WATCH O—“

A fist connected to the back of his head, and the world went black.

{}{}{}{}{}

~Twenty-One Days Earlier~

Diego squatted down on the locker room floor and surveyed the dark stain around the bench.

This was not good.

The stain had been there since Tuesday, and its origins were shrouded in mystery. It was kind of sticky and had a vague chemical smell, and had proven resistant to water. And Pine-Sol. And rubbing alcohol. And steel wool.

Diego was fighting a losing battle, and he couldn’t even figure out what the fuck his enemy _was._

“That still there?”

Diego turned to find Al standing by the drinking fountain.

“Thought I told you to clean that up two days ago.”

Diego grunted and rose to his feet. “I’m working on it. What do you want, Al?”

Al’s rheumy eyes narrowed for a second. “Watch it, Hargreeves. Came to see if you were up for a fight in a few weeks, but there’s a dozen other rodeo clowns around here I could give it to.”

Diego cocked an eyebrow. He hadn’t a _fight_ fight in… three years? He still did a lot of training around the gym, practice bouts and helping break in the new guys, but his boxing career had been over before it began.

“Against who?” he asked.

“That Stevenson kid. From Corley’s Gym. He was supposed to match up against Daryl later this month, but Julian just called from the hospital.” He grimaced. “Fractured ulna. Gonna be outta commission for a minute.”

Diego toyed with the rag he held. “Stevenson. He the one who got that endorsement deal?”

Al scoffed. “If you wanna call it that.”

Nobody from their gym had ever been endorsed by anyone, not even the maker of a fly-by-night sport supplement drink. Al was still salty over the whole thing.

He was good, though, Stevenson. Diego had seen him a couple times. Heard he’d been in a few tournaments. Trained with a former Olympian. Gotten picked once for an exhibition match, against an actual pro.

He… might have had Diego outclassed, a little bit.

“Give me a date and time.”

{}{}{}{}{}

~19 Days Earlier~

“OHHHH, Mom is makin’ me eeeeggs, and I hope she won’t burn ‘em, because I like eeeeggs, but not when they’re burnt!”

Five raised his head groggily off his arms. His cheek was still crusted with last night’s drool. “Stop singing,” he mumbled.

Klaus snapped his fingers and slid across the kitchen floor. “I won’t stop singiiiing, cuz it’s like we’re in a musical, and nothing rhymes with musical, so la la la la!”

“He watched _Moulin Rouge_ again last night,” Ben explained to Five. “He’ll stop in a few days.”

“You have a lovely voice, dear,” their mother said from the stove.

“Thank you, Mooom, now we’re back to the eggs again, can I have cheeeese, cuz I like my eggs with cheese!”

Five glared down into his coffee cup like he was considering throwing it. Or maybe drowning himself in it.

Diego dropped into the seat next to Ben. Dave was at the other end of the table, trying to unsnarl a tangle of Allison’s jewelry Klaus had gotten into, and Luther was absorbed in Sudoku.

He set down his glass of orange juice so it clunked loudly.

No one looked over at him. He forged ahead anyway.

“I’m going to be spending a lot of time at the gym for the next few weeks,” he announced. “So you probably won’t see me much.”

One of the cats jumped up onto the table, and Ben scooped her into his lap.

“No bacon for you,” he scolded.

“Where does the nine go?” Luther muttered at his puzzle.

Diego shifted in his seat, deliberately hitting the underside of the table with his knee so that everything on it rattled. Some of Five’s coffee splashed over the rim of his mug onto his hand. He started a little in surprise.

“I have a thing,” Diego continued, louder. “I’m going to be busy.”

“Okay,” said Dave.

“Really busy. Because of the thing. That I have. It’s important.”

Dave nodded pleasantly, his attention fixed on the ball of necklaces.

“Now my eggs are almost dooone, and I’m really, really hungry! You’ve done it again, Moooom, I WANT. THOSE. E—“

Klaus pirouetted into the refrigerator and stumbled backwards, rubbing his head. “OW! Why?!”

Five licked his coffee off his hand, deep in his early-morning stupor. Mom flipped Klaus’s omelet. Ben peppered his cat’s head with kisses.

Diego scowled at his orange juice. He should have done this while Allison was in town. She was nosy as fuck.

He rose from his chair and stretched. “I’m heading out to the gym. Got a lot of shit to do today.”

Dave made a funny noise, like an aborted snort of laughter, and set the jewelry jumble aside. He smiled at him. “What is it that you’re doing, Diego?” he asked solicitously.

Fucking finally.

“Nothing major.” He cracked his neck. “Got a fight coming up.”

“Ooh!” Klaus bounced over to the table with his omelet, now more ketchup than eggs. “I love boxing! It’s like, half bloodsport and half big, gay, hugging contest.”

Diego frowned at him. “It’s not hugging. It’s clinching. How many times do we need to have this conversation?”

“Still very homoerotic,” said Klaus, digging into his food. “It’d be a lot hotter if you weren’t in the mix, but it’s fine. I’ll focus on the other guy.”

“Window shopping only,” Dave warned him with a grin.

“Who are you fighting?” asked Ben.

“This kid Stevenson from another gym. He’s twenty. He’s pretty decent.” He paused before lowering the boom. “He has an endorsement.”

“Oh. From who?”

“What would you do if _they_ make a pass at _me?”_ Klaus asked Dave. He leaned forward, eyes glinting with eagerness. “Pretend he gets out of the ring, and then he comes over and pinches my butt. How do you proceed?”

“Some company that makes supplement drinks,” said Diego. “It’s called… I don’t know, Flexorade, I think.”

Five sipped his coffee. “Gatorade and steroids,” he muttered.

“I’ve never heard of it,” said Ben.

Diego shrugged. “It’s up and coming.”

Dave leaned forward, too, so his and Klaus’s faces were only a few inches apart. “We’d go back in the ring,” he said. “And I’d kick the shit out of him, because ghosts don’t get tired, and you can’t knock us out.”

“Do you buy it in a store, or from the trunk of some guy’s car?” wondered Five.

Diego pursed his lips. He liked Five a lot better when he was half-asleep.

Klaus’s eyes were wide. “And then _you_ guys would have a big, gay hugging contest,” he breathed. “Over _me.”_

“The gayest,” Dave confirmed.

Luther cleared his throat at the other end of the table. “That’s really cool, Diego,” he said, offering a hesitant smile. “Do you want us to come, or…?”

Yes.

Diego shrugged again. “It’s a free country,” he said, all nonchalance. “It’s going to be at seven on the 21st. If you do come, get there early because there’s not much parking. Do what you want, though, I don’t care. Ten bucks at the door, Al’s a tightwad and he wouldn’t give me comps. Maybe I can talk him down to five for family. Come or don’t come, it’s whatever. I’ll save you seats.”

There.

Play it nice and cool.

{}{}{}{}{}

~14 Days Earlier~

Diego found Mom in the laundry room and hopped up to sit on the dryer.

“The powder soap didn’t work,” he told her. “That fucking stain is still there.”

She hummed as she folded one of Five’s nerdy button-downs. “Language,” she said mildly. “Have you tried hydrogen peroxide?”

“Nah.” He swung his legs. “What do I do, just dump it on there?”

“Soak a rag, and let it sit for an hour or two.”

“Got it.” He glanced at the door to make sure it was closed, then leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Love you.”

“I love you, too, dear.”

He jumped down off the dryer and headed into the kitchen, wincing a little at how tight his calves felt.

He’d been training with a vengeance for the last few days. He was still in shape—he never slacked off his workout routine—but there was no getting around the fact that he wasn’t eighteen anymore.

Still. The soreness felt good, in a way. A reminder that he was working towards something.

He opened the fridge and took out one of the meals he’d prepped for himself. Today was baked chicken, no salt, and steamed green beans, which he despised but forced himself to eat anyway.

The phone rang as he set the timer on the microwave.

“Hello?”

“Hey! Is that Diego?” Allison’s voice asked.

“Yeah.” He leaned against the wall. There was a bag of potato chips sitting on the counter. “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing much, just calling to check in. How are you?”

“Fine.” He tore his eyes away from the chips. They settled instead on a box of rigatoni on top of the fridge. “You?”

“Good! They’re trying to get me to do some comic-con thing, for the show I’m voicing. I don’t know if I’m going, yet, though, I’ve been told people get nuts at those things.”

He forced his gaze from the rigatoni, and found himself staring at a package of Oreos. Fuck. Why was this house so full of carbs?

“I thought it was a kid’s show,” he said.

“Did you?” she asked. “When you watched it, like you told me you did, and they had us saying ‘fuck’ and making sex jokes every three seconds, you thought it was a good show for kids?”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had an Oreo. Maybe he’d never had an Oreo. Right now, he wanted an Oreo more than he wanted his next breath.

“That’s funny,” he said absently into the phone.

“What? Are you even listening to me? Raspberry. Baseball. Oh, no, I’m on fire.”

Oreos and milk. Whole milk. So much fat. Oh God.

“Cool,” he mumbled. 

Allison sighed in his ear. “Is Luther around? Or Klaus? One of the cats? I’ll take anybody.”

“Huh?” He blinked a couple times. “Oh. Uh. When are you coming to town, again?”

“The 18th. Just in time for your fight!”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How’d you know about that?”

“Vanya told me.”

“How’d _she_ know?”

“Someone else told her, I assume? Because it’s not top secret information, it’s a normal thing for family members to discuss?”

Oh. Well, that actually worked out. He’d been planning to mention it to her while he was escorting her to one of her pool matches, so she’d feel too guilty to weasel her way out of going. He’d been keeping her safe at gross bars all throughout the city for months, after all. She owed him.

“You guys don’t have to come,” he said. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t give a shit one way or the other.”

Allison paused. “Well, would you rather we didn’t? I mean, I was planning on it, but if you’d be nervous having us there watching…”

Diego snorted. “The fuck would I be nervous for?”

Now that he thought about it, though, how humiliating would it be if he crapped out after like, two rounds? There was a real chance he might lose—he didn’t love it, but he knew it—but NO WAY was he going to hand Stevenson an easy win.

This might be his only chance to show off to everybody what he could do in the ring. He had to put up a good fight, at the very least.

He turned his back to the Oreos. Not worth it.

Green beans all day.

Slimy, disgusting green beans.

{}{}{}{}{}

~Ten Days Earlier~

Klaus was singing about toothpaste and trying to moonwalk across the living room. Vanya sat on the sofa with her legs folded under her, cringing as he almost banged his shin on the coffee table.

Diego tossed his plastic shopping bag onto the floor and sat down stiffly next to her.

“Hey,” he said. “You just get here?”

“Mm.” She took a sip of her tea and looked him over. “Ah… are you okay?”

“Great,” he grunted. “Peak physical condition.”

His arms hurt so bad.

“Okay, but… you’re sitting kind of funny?”

Diego glared at her. Out of the corner of his eye. Turning his neck was just asking for trouble.

 _“You’re_ sitting funny.”

Vanya turned away and took another drink of her tea.

That was right. Back off.

Five blinked into the room, holding two swatches of carpet and looking disgruntled.

“Good evening,” he said. “I’m planning to replace the carpeting in the second floor hallways, but, in light of the library debacle, Luther insists that I get everyone’s input before making any more renovations. Which sample do you both prefer? The one on the left? Excellent choice, that’s what we’re going with.”

He hurled them both across the room.

Diego took a deep breath and leaned down to pick up his plastic bag. He was pretty sure he felt something pop as he did.

“Here.” He pulled out a can, and offered it to Five. “Flexorade.”

“What?” Five took it from his hand and gave it a dubious look. “This is that endorsement thing?”

“Yeah. It’s supposed to help you recover post-workout.”

Five turned it over and studied the ingredients listed on the back. “And you brought it fresh from somebody’s trunk to us. How thoughtful.”

“I didn’t buy it out of somebody’s trunk,” Diego muttered.

He’d bought it off the back of somebody’s pickup truck, as a matter of fact.

Klaus cha-cha’d over to join them. “What are we doing?” he asked cheerily. “Are we having a shady sports drink tasting?”

He grabbed another can and cracked the tab. “Mixed berry!” he exclaimed. “That’s the worst flavor for everything! Oh boy, this is gonna suck.”

Five and Vanya watched him throw his head back and slug down half the can.

“Well?” Five prompted. “Does it suck?”

Klaus burped and smacked his lips. “And how!” He thrust it at Vanya. “Here, try. It’s basically poison.”

She leaned away. “Oh, well. I have my tea. So.”

Diego shifted on the sofa. His back spasmed in protest.

“It isn’t poison,” he said in irritation. “Some people swear by it.”

It was real drink. And a real endorsement. And his opponent wasn’t just some dumb kid who’d washed out of military boot camp early and needed to find someplace else to channel his testosterone, he had real talent, and was going to be a real challenge.

These assholes weren’t impressed by _anything._

Five opened his can and swished Flexorade around in his mouth before swallowing, like it was a fine wine he wanted to savor.

“You can really taste the sketchiness, can’t you?” asked Klaus.

“Mm. I find it pairs well with the mixed berry.”

“Like a trash juice cocktail. All it needs is a garnish!”

“Maybe some fingernail clippings.”

Vanya laughed a little in the back of her throat, then quickly busied herself with her tea when Diego shot her a dirty look.

The door opened, and Ben stuck his head into the room.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he called. “Mom said five minutes.”

“Ooh, Ben!” Klaus sprinted towards him full-tilt, holding the can of Flexorade out eagerly. “You have to try this! I know you can’t eat or drink anything, but this is worth giving it another shot. It’s SO BAD!”

“It’s an acquired taste!” Diego said hotly as Ben gave the can a wary sniff.

Vanya twisted in her seat, teacup balanced on her knee. “Do _you_ like it?” she asked.

He shrugged, which was a terrible mistake. Ow.

“It’s alright.”

“Maybe you should have some, then,” she said. “If it’s supposed to be for after you exercise? I mean, I know you said you’re alright, but… you’re still sitting funny.”

Five proffered his can with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

Diego stared at it. He’d tried the watermelon-flavored kind earlier that day.

“I’m… good.”

{}{}{}{}{}

~Five Days Earlier~

Diego ducked under Luther’s fist, and used the momentum of the swing to shove him to the floor.

“Grace of a ballerina,” he taunted. “Get up.”

Luther rolled over on the mat.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to spar with you if I knew you were going to be such a dick about it,” he muttered.

Diego shook out his arms. With less than a week to go before his fight, it was time to ease up on the more strenuous training, but practice bouts were a safe bet. What were home gyms for, after all, if not whaling on your brother?

“I’m not being a dick,” he said. “I’m talking trash.”

Luther got up on his knees and gave him one of his Luther Looks.

“Shut up,” Diego snapped, even though he hadn’t said anything. “Everybody talks trash. You say mean shit and get in their head, and your opponent gets mad, and then they get sloppy. It’s a whole tactic.”

“Your toes are weird,” Luther told him.

Diego frowned. “Not like that.”

“You’re… sweaty.”

“Just get up, will you? Christ.”

While Luther got to his feet, Diego snuck a surreptitious glance at his own.

His toes were perfectly normal. Dickwad.

“How much longer do you want to do this?” Luther asked. “Can we take a lunch break?”

Diego shot him a feral grin. “Aw. Getting tired? Can’t hang like you used to?”

Luther smiled back, fleeting and a little chagrined. “Diego. I spent four years in zero-gravity and you’re like, a professional athlete. Come on.”

Oh. He was so fucking casual about it, like it didn’t sting at all to pay him a compliment. Like he really meant it, like… like it was just a given thing that Diego was good at this.

“I’m not a professional athlete,” he said gruffly, trying to stuff down the weird feeling in his chest. He glared, though he wasn’t sure why. “How the shit do you think boxing works, Luther? Who is paying me for this match?”

Luther eyed him with suspicion. “Is this more trash talk or are you just actually being a dick?”

“Is it you? Are you going to pay me? Give me twenty bucks right now and I’ll slap the shit out of you.”

Luther sighed. “Alright. Just actually being a dick.”

“Goddamn right I am,” Diego grumbled, getting back into fighting stance. “’Professional athlete.’ You fucking glue-eater.”

“Oh, come—!” Luther threw up his hands in exasperation. “We were six, and you were the one who dared me to do it!”

Diego thrust his chin at him, his pulse already picking up in anticipation. One more round, then they could break for lunch.

Luther had gotten knocked down enough for the day, anyway. He’d earned himself a sandwich.

“Yeah? Now I’m daring you to do something else, big guy. Come hit me.”

Luther raised his fists, too, with less enthusiasm. “The more you talk, the more I want to,” he muttered.

Diego smiled. There he was.

{}{}{}{}{}

~Yesterday~

Diego had a dream that night.

Not about the match, about what happened afterwards.

He saw Stevenson go down, in his purple trunks with the Flexorade logo stamped on them, and disappear in a puff of smoke.

Diego raised his arms over his head, then suddenly he was standing in the locker room.

His siblings were crowded around him, smiling, excited. Five was wearing a sunhat. There was a guy there he’d never seen before, but when they made eye contact, Diego understood that he was actually Allison and Ben, combined as one person. He looked at the floor, and saw that the stain was gone.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” he said to Vanya.

Vanya’s smile was adoring. “How could I miss it?” she asked. “You’ve been keeping me safe at gross bars all throughout the city for months. I owe you. But I would have come anyway, because you’re super fucking cool and I want to learn more about your interests so that we can bond and shit.”

Klaus pulled him into a hug. “Boxing is awesome and not homoerotic at all,” he said. “I see that now. I love you.”

“I’m sorry for making fun of Flexorade,” Five told him. “And for all the other times I made fun of you. I actually have a lot of respect for you, but I also have a terrible sense of humor and no social skills.”

Diego put a brotherly hand on his sunhat.

“You look like a farmer.”

Five smiled up at him mistily. “I am.”

He turned to Luther next. “My toes aren’t weird. I’m Number One now.”

Luther’s eyes were bright with admiration. “That’s fair.”

Alli-Ben didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. They just gave him a long, slow nod, and Diego felt it deep in his soul.

Klaus vanished, and in his place stood their mother.

She cupped Diego’s cheek. “Don’t tell your siblings, but you’re my favorite.”

He squeezed her tight. He’d known it all along.

“I brought you a gift,” she said, then, from thin air, produced a glass of milk and a plate of Oreos.

Diego bit into one while everyone applauded.

It tasted like victory.

{}{}{}{}{}

~Now~

When Diego opened his eyes, the room was spinning.

A hand gripped his shoulder.

“Hargreeves? You good?”

Julian.

He wanted to ask him what had happened, but the only sound that came out of his mouth was ‘glugh.’

“Well, we know you’re alive. I think you got knocked out for a second there, kiddo.”

He—No. The bell!

“Sucker punch,” Julian went on, as if he’d read his mind. His voice was full of sympathy. “Straight to the back of the head.”

No. No no no no no. Fuck!

He sat bolt upright, his vision swimming like a funhouse mirror.

“Hey, hey! Easy does it!”

He was good. He was _great._ He could finish the match, he could _win_ the goddamn match, he—

“Ex-CUSE me!” a familiar voice rang out.

Diego blinked a few times to get his eyes to focus, and spotted Klaus elbowing his way through a sea of purple shirts, Ben in tow.

He jumped up onto the ring and nearly catapulted himself back to the floor trying to climb over the ropes.

“You okay?” he asked breathlessly. He crouched down in front of him and started running his hands over Diego’s arms like he was checking for injuries. “You okay, Diego? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“None, dipshit,” he slurred.

“Yeah, trick question, nice catch. Alright, can you stand up?”

Diego shoved at his chest. “You can’t be up here.”

Klaus furrowed his brows. Behind him, Stevenson was arguing with the ref, the purple material of his trunks shimmering with each wild hand gesture. The sight made Diego dizzy.

“The match is over.” Ben stood ringside, resting his elbows on the bottom rope. His face was tight with worry, but his tone was slow and patient. Reassuring. “Do you remember what happened?”

“’Course I remember.” He made to stand, and the room tipped sideways. “It doesn’t count as a KO if it was an illegal punch. I’m still good to fight. Both of you get lost.”

Julian stepped around Ben to where Diego could see him. “The match is over and your family will take you home,” he said with an air of finality. “I’d recommend you get checked out by a doctor first, but I already know you’re not going to.”

Diego scowled at him. Julian stared back, unmoved.

He looked over to where his siblings had been sitting. Luther and Allison were already gone. Five and Vanya had their heads bent together, deep in conversation and paying him no mind.

…Fine. Fine. Sucker punch. Fucking _bullshit._

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus and Ben took him to the locker room.

They passed by Al on the way, red-faced and standing chest-to-chest with Stevenson’s coach as they shouted at one another. If he saw Diego, he didn’t acknowledge him.

The guy selling Flexorade did, though. He tracked their path through narrowed eyes from behind his card table, glaring as though Diego had wanted this to happen.

He tried to get into the showers, but was hit by a wave of vertigo that had him clinging to a wall, so Ben steered him back to the benches and wiped him down with a wet towel instead.

Under any other circumstances, anybody trying to give Diego a sponge bath would have earned themselves a swift fist to the kidney. But his head was pounding and the room was still spinning and it was _Ben,_ so he just sat there seething over the indignity of it all.

Klaus was rifling through his locker for clean clothes—which, what the fuck, because Diego had surely never given him the combination—and commenting on everything he found inside of it.

“Big fan of bodybuilding magazines, I see. I might have to borrow one sometime, you know, for the articles. Is this a mouth guard or a retainer? Okay, here’s a jock strap, not touching _that_ with a ten foot pole. O-ho, jackpot!”

He turned around with a box of cornstarch.

“Here, hold out your hand,” he ordered as he ripped it open. “Nobody’s washing your crotch for you, so this will have to do for now.”

Ben didn’t look up from unlacing Diego’s shoes. “Stay classy, bro.”

Klaus crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “We’re in a men’s locker room. If ever there was a time and place to discuss ball sweat, it’s here.”

It took a while to get dressed. Ben and Klaus kept trying to help, and Diego kept shaking them off, and then he got his arm stuck in his shirt for an embarrassingly long time.

He finally got free and pulled it down into place, triumphant. It was on inside out.

Daryl came crashing through like a hurricane as they were on their way out the door, swinging his casted arm all over creation and cursing a blue streak.

“They’re calling it a no-decision,” he fumed. “He’s out there trying to say he didn’t hear the bell, which is a fucking lie _._ _You_ heard the bell. _I_ heard the bell. _Everybody_ heard that goddamn bell! This fucking place, man, fucking—FUCK.”

It wasn’t like it actually mattered. This fight wasn’t going on anybody’s record. Still, Diego found that he couldn’t quite look Daryl in the eye.

In the parking lot, Allison was leaning against his car.

“Hey!” she called, then stopped, like she didn’t know where to go from there.

“I thought I’d drive you guys,” she said after a second. “For, uh. Safety’s sake.”

Diego told her no, and she told him yes, and Ben begged him to be reasonable, and then Klaus produced the keys from his coat pocket and threw them to Allison over Diego’s head, so that was the end of it.

He glared at them in her hand as Ben evaporated and Klaus climbed into the car. No way to demand them back now without looking like a kid having a temper tantrum. Great.

“Are you alright?” Allison asked gently. Her cheek hollowed as she sucked the inside of it. “I know this… probably wasn’t how you imagined—“

“I’m fantastic,” he snarled, and stormed over to the passenger side door.

The ride home was quiet and more than a little awkward.

Klaus kept shooting him concerned glances and then mouthing things at an empty space in the backseat. Allison tried to take his hand at a stoplight at one point, but he shut that shit down at light speed.

Diego thought, for a few precious moments, that they’d all disperse through the house and leave him to lick his wounds in private.

But, of course, that was too much to ask for.

“Okay, first order of business, we need to get you de-stinkified,” Klaus declared, bouncing after him into the living room. “I’ll draw you a bath, and I’ll even let you use one of my fluffy towels because I’m a very nice person.”

Ben, visible once more, moved to sit next to him on the sofa, so Diego swung his legs up onto it. Ben perched on the armrest instead.

“We should probably have Mom check you out before that,” he said. “I’ll go see where she is, and then… Are you hungry? I can make you something.”

Klaus rested his elbows on the back of the couch. “Or, wait, are you nauseous? Every time I ever had a concussion, I puked all over the place.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ben pulled a face. “In the car that one time? Remember?”

“Yep! Remember the time I puked in my bed, so I went to sleep with you, except then I puked in your bed? And then you went to get Mom but I’d also puked right outside your door and I forgot to tell you and you slipped and fell in it?”

“Yes, Klaus. I remember.”

Diego threw his arm across his eyes. “Stop talking about puke,” he groaned.

“Alright,” Ben agreed hurriedly, then—to Diego’s displeasure—swooped down to give him an awkward hug. “I’ll be right back, you just try to relax. Remember, you can’t watch TV with a concussion, okay?”

Footsteps scurried away, and Diego focused on his breathing. In, two, three. Out, two, three, four—

“I’ll sing you a don’t-get-sick lullaby,” Klaus whispered loudly.

“NO.”

“You feel greeeat, we’re all coooool, please don’t _ru_ -in the _so_ -fa—“

“Really don’t think that’s helping, sweetheart,” Dave’s voice cut in.

Shit. He must have been there at the fight, too, huh? All they needed was to bring their mother along and get Pogo to fly back for the night, and then _everybody_ could have watched him get his lights turned out.

There were more footsteps, approaching this time. Diego squeezed his eyes tighter in annoyance. Could his siblings not tell when they weren’t wanted, or did they just not care?

He should probably go to his bedroom and lock the door, but… stairs.

“I got you some painkillers,” Allison’s voice informed him.

Diego dropped his arm to glare up at her, but she was focused on the vials in her hand. A water bottle was tucked under her arm.

“Your options are Tylenol that expired six years ago, liquid children’s Motrin that’s probably about as old as we are, and a single loose Midol I found in the bottom of my purse. Which might actually be a mint.”

She sighed in maternal disappointment. “What do you all do when you have a headache?”

“Walk around all day saying ‘I have a headache,’” Klaus told her.

Diego sat up, swallowing a grimace at the ache in his shoulders. “I don’t need painkillers,” he said. “Just give me the water.”

She tossed it to him, and he missed catching it by kind of a lot.

…It was a bad throw.

“By the way, you guys didn’t see Five and Vanya back at the gym, did you?” Allison asked Klaus. “They’re not home yet. I hope they’re not there looking for us.”

Klaus clicked his tongue. “Oh, those two. They’re probably off being antisocial together somewhere.”

Diego took a long drink, and the cold made his stomach clench.

“Maybe he took her to her apartment?” Allison wondered. “I don’t know, I thought the plan was we were all coming back here.”

Dave reached down to steady the bottle in Diego’s faltering grip.

“I got it,” he grunted.

“I know,” Dave said lightly. “I’m just being a busybody. It’s what I do, don’t mind me.”

Diego released the bottle into his hand. Now that all of the adrenaline of the night had ebbed away, he might as well have been made of rubber. His arms felt like noddles.

Dave stilled. “Your—What?”

Diego blinked at him, then frowned. Had he said that out loud?

“Do you mean ‘noodles?’” Dave asked slowly, scanning his face in concern. He turned to Klaus and Allison. “Uh… The hospital’s sounding like a better idea all the time, guys.”

“Noo, he’s okay,” Klaus assured him. He leaned over to pet Diego’s head. “’Noddles’ is just one of those words like ‘bagel,’ you know? There’s different ways of pronouncing it.”

“Don’t touch me,” Diego warned.

To his surprise, Klaus stopped without doing a single stupid thing to deliberately provoke him.

“Do you feel sick again?” he asked. “I think we have ginger ale. Or I can get you a basin.”

Diego scowled up at him. Was he honestly trying to be helpful? Klaus was never helpful. Fucking backwards day up in here.

Dave tapped his fingers on the water bottle, still looking doubtful. “I have never, ever heard someone pronounce ‘noodle’ as ‘noddle.’”

“Really? I do it,” Klaus said with a shrug.

“Me, too,” said Allison. She scratched her nails gently over Diego’s scalp, and he jerked away. “If you decide you do want to go to the hospital, though, just say the word. Because, you know. Head injuries start adding up after a while.”

Klaus was watching him closely. When he saw that Diego had noticed, his face broke out into a dopey smile.

“Plus they have those little mini cans of soda there,” he added. “I like to ask for two and pretend I’m a giant. Which is the perfect segue back to my original question, do you want some ginger ale?”

The door groaned open, and then Luther was peeking in at them.

“Oh,” he said. “I thought I heard voices. Hi.”

He looked at Diego. “You, uh. You okay?”

Diego narrowed his eyes at him. “Outstanding,” he said icily.

“Oh. Good.” Luther shifted his weight to his other foot and looked around at nothing. “Well, I’ll be in the kitchen. If anyone needs anything.”

“Thanks,” said Allison.

“Sure.” His gaze rested on Diego again. “You’re okay right now, though?”

“The fuck did I just tell you? _Yes.”_

Klaus made a shushing noise and put a hand on his shoulder. “Happy thoughts, Diego dearest,” he said. “Yelling is bad for your brain, and your brain has enough problems already.”

Allison was rubbing her thumb over the lump on the back of his head. “I’ll get you some ice,” she decided, then made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. “Aw, Diego, this looks so sore. You sure you don’t want a painkiller? I can run out and get you something that’s not expired.”

Luther brightened and stepped fully into the room. _“I_ can go get painkillers.”

“I’m fucking fine,” Diego said in frustration.

“Okay, me and Mom got everything ready in the infirmary!” Ben called as he jogged back through the door.

He circled the couch and offered a hand. “Come on. We’ll help you down the stairs and then one of us can run a bath for you.”

 _“I_ can help you down the stairs,” Luther offered.

Klaus hopped backwards. “I’ll go get the good towels.”

“I don’t need help on the stairs! I can still fucking walk!”

“How about crackers and ginger ale first, and then if that settles your stomach, you take something for your head?” Allison suggested.

 _“I_ can go get crackers.”

Ben’s hand curled around his elbow, and Diego ripped his arm away. “St-stop!”

Heat rose to his cheeks, made worse by the looks being exchanged around him. Like he couldn’t see them, or guess what they were all thinking, or—Whatever.

He pushed himself to his feet. “Take your ginger ale and your painkillers and shove them up your ass,” he said, voice raw with anger. “I’m going to see Mom, and then you can all fuck off and leave me alone.”

Ben’s hand fell limply to his side. He tried to smile. “Okay,” he soothed. “That’s the concussion talking, but okay. We’ll go to the infirmary, and then we’ll lea—“

Diego cursed under his breath and stormed past him.

Klaus was fiddling nervously with his dog tags, and Dave reached down to squeeze his hip in comfort. Luther raised a hand like he was going to touch his shoulder as he stalked by, then seemed to think better of it. He rubbed awkwardly at his own thigh.

Allison tracked his movements with her eyes. She looked supremely unsurprised by this outburst, which just pissed him off more.

Made him want to say something really nasty, something he’d probably regret later on, but would feel so fucking good in the moment.

“I’m not in the mood for any of this ‘let’s pretend we’re all so nice to each other’ garbage,” he called from the doorway. His lip curled in disgust. “We’re _not._ You all _know_ that we’re not.”

He slammed the door behind him.

None of them followed.

{}{}{}{}{}

Mom clicked off the penlight, and Diego blinked a few times to dispel the dark shapes flitting through his vision.

“Alright, dear. Make sure to get plenty of rest over the next few days, and you should be right as rain.”

He knew that without an examination. He’d had a dozen concussions worse than this over the years. But she would have worried, and he couldn’t stand to see her upset.

“Thanks,” he mumbled.

She hummed softly and took a step towards him, heels clicking on the linoleum. “Are you injured anywhere else?”

Just his pride.

It must have taken him too long to answer, because he felt the synthetic skin of her hand brush his cheek.

“What’s wrong, Diego dear?”

His gaze snapped up to meet hers. “Nothing,” he said, but she kept looking at him, patient and nonjudgmental and expectant.

He lowered his eyes again and kicked half-heartedly at the side of the exam table. He felt like he was eight years old all over again, and she was asking why he’d sulked through dinner.

“Tonight wasn’t… It didn’t go how I hoped,” he said. “And now everybody’s upstairs being fu— _freaking_ annoying. That’s all.”

Mom tilted her head. “How are they annoying you, dear?”

“They’re…” He rubbed his hands over his knees, searching for the right way to explain. Touching him and offering to go get him stuff and asking if he was okay six billion times didn’t exactly make them sound like monsters.

But it made him feel ashamed. Stupid. Pitied.

It made him think of all the other times he’d worked the hardest and trained the longest and studied the most and nobody gave a shit, because effort was irrelevant if you came in at second place.

It made him feel like a giant loser.

“They’re acting like I’m helpless,” he decided.

She stroked his hair. “I’m sure your brothers and sisters are only worried about you.”

Diego clenched his jaw. “They don’t need to be,” he said heatedly. “I’m fine. Like, Jesus Christ, this is not the first time I’ve ever been knocked out.”

Mom hummed again. Her eyes had turned unfocused, the way they did when she was thinking.

“It took me a long time to learn how to comfort you children when you were upset,” she said eventually. She smiled at him. “Sometimes, I would think I was saying the right thing to cheer one of you up, and you would continue right on crying.”

She laughed, soft and tinkling. “Sometimes, you would cry even more. It was difficult, you know.”

“No, Mom—“ He grabbed her hand. “Don’t say that. You were great, you were… the _best.”_

“Well, it got easier over time.” She leaned forward, like she was sharing a secret. “It takes practice, you see. To know how to make someone feel better, when they’re upset.”

“Yeah,” he agreed uncertainly. “I guess.”

“Yes.” She smiled at him. “But, Diego dear. It’s not difficult to make someone feel better when they have a concussion. That’s actually quite simple.”

{}{}{}{}{}

Luther had said he would be in the kitchen, and so there he was, in the kitchen. Diego wondered if he planned to just sit there all night ‘in case anybody needed anything.’

Probably. Luther was that exact sort of doofus.

He didn’t look up from his reading as Diego prowled in and opened the fridge, but he could feel his eyes following him.

“What?” he demanded as he twisted the cap off a water bottle.

“Nothing,” said Luther. “Are you o—“

He cut himself off with a grimace.

Diego took a gulp of the water. It did not sit easy on his stomach.

“What are you reading?”

He didn’t super care and he wasn’t sure why he’d asked, but whatever. Head injury.

“Oh.” Luther shifted in his chair and frowned down at his magazine. “It’s an article about earthquakes. It’s kind of dry, but you know I didn’t _like_ watching you get knocked out, right?”

Diego paused with the water bottle halfway to his mouth.

“Wow. That sentence really got away from you, huh?”

Luther cringed. “A little, yeah.” His hands twitched on the table. “I just… didn’t want you to think I was sitting there laughing at you, or anything.”

Diego lowered the bottle. “I didn’t think that.”

He was vaguely surprised to find that it was true. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Luther’s whole body relaxed, as though a weight had been taken off his shoulders. “Alright. Good.”

They were both silent for a moment.

“So… You’re feeling okay?”

Diego glared at him.

“Right, got it, you’re okay,” Luther said hastily. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Christ. He was going to keep repeating the same two things over and over unless Diego found something for him to do, wasn’t he? Like a big, dumb dog who wouldn’t leave you alone until you threw a toy for it to chase.

He took a swig of water, and his stomach roiled. “I need paint thinner.”

Luther blinked at him. “Uh. Right now?”

“Yes. Immediately. There’s this stain on the floor at work, and I’ve tried everything else to get rid of it. The only thing left is paint thinner. But I didn’t have time to pick any up.”

Luther closed his magazine. “Well… Can I get it tomorrow? It’s almost nine, I don’t know where I’d go this late to—“

“You said ‘anything,’” Diego interrupted. “And this is an emergency. If I don’t have a can of paint thinner in my hands at seven tomorrow morning, I’m fucked.”

Luther strummed his fingers on the table. “Maybe we have some in the basement,” he said, half to himself.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Go check. Tear the place apart.”

That ought to keep him busy for a while.

Dave strolled in and offered them both a vague smile as Luther stood up and Diego was hit by a wave of nausea.

Oh God. He should not have drank that water so fast.

“Klaus wanted juice,” Dave explained as he opened the fridge.

“Cool.” Diego wrapped an arm around his midsection. “I’m gonna go barf, see you guys later.”

Luther took a wary step backwards. Dave cheerily wished him all the best.

Rushing through the door, he heard a crinkle of cellophane behind him.

“Hey, Luther. Read this for me?”

“Uh. ‘Ramen Noddles?’”

Diego swallowed hard. In hindsight, ginger ale would have been a good idea.

{}{}{}{}{}

The nausea spiked again, and Diego leaned forward over the toilet bowl hopefully—but nothing happened.

Allison rubbed a steady hand up and down his back. “Want some water?”

What he wanted was to throw up. He’d never wanted that before, but it had been a weird day.

Diego spit into the toilet. “No. Also, feel free to go anywhere else in the world outside of this bathroom.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind keeping you company. Here, wipe your face with a washcloth. You’ll feel better.”

 _He_ sort of minded Allison keeping him company. He hadn’t asked for it. She had been walking by and heard him dry-heaving, and that was apparently all the invitation she needed, because, once again: Allison was nosy as fuck.

She held the washcloth out to him, but Diego just gave her a dirty look. So she wiped his face for him.

…Goddamn it. That _did_ feel better.

“How about you go lie down for a while?” she suggested. “Maybe the nausea will pass on its own.”

Diego ground the heel of his hand into one eye. “All I need is to puke once and I’ll be fine.”

An idea hit him, and he glanced at Allison. How dedicated was she to all this mother hen baloney? Time to find out.

He got up on his knees and gripped the edges of the bowl. “Talk about something disgusting.”

“What?” she laughed.

“Talk about disgusting shit,” he ordered. “You want to help, say something to make me puke.”

“Oh. You know, at first, that’s what I thought you meant, but then I said to myself, ‘Nooo, Diego’s not that deranged.’ I hate it when I’m wrong.”

Diego’s answering huff echoed in the toilet bowl. “Be gross or get out.”

Allison crossed her legs on the bathroom floor and tipped her head back in thought.

“Mucus,” she said.

“Something to make _me_ puke, not you.”

“Uhhh… Imagine getting acupuncture. All those little needles, going prick, prick, prick—“

Diego whipped around. “Don’t think I won’t punch you in the throat just because you’re a woman,” he warned.

Allison patted his back. “Okay, acupuncture is over, we’re leaving the clinic. Um… One time I kissed a guy who had a pimple on his cheek, and it popped on my face.”

Diego’s stomach churned. Ugh.

“Think abooout… Athlete’s foot. And worms. And finding hair clumps in the shower drain.”

He gagged. Clogged drains at the gym were his archnemesis. There was _always_ something horrible down there.

Allison leaned closer to murmur in his ear. “You know how after you wash the dishes, there’s all the little soggy food pieces at the bottom of the sink?” she cooed. “Imagine if you ate that.”

Diego threw up.

As he coughed and spit, Allison ran her hands up and down his back.

“Feel better?” she asked. She sounded so pleased with herself. Like being able to induce vomiting was her big achievement of the day.

“Yeah,” Diego wheezed. “I think so. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

She offered him the water bottle, and he took a mouthful to swish around.

“So,” she said, settling back onto the floor. “You liked that line about sink food?”

“’Like’ isn’t the word for it,” he said croakily. “It got the job done. Let’s leave it at that.”

She hummed in agreement. “I pretty much lifted it wholesale from my show, you know.”

Diego glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “I haven’t seen every episode.”

“It was in the first episode.”

He gargled another mouthful of water and spit it out. “I’ll watch it later this week,” he grumbled.

He sort of owed it to her. Because she’d come to his thing. And then driven him home and offered to go buy him pain medicine and followed him in here in spite of the fact that he’d been a giant dong.

And even now, after watching him yack up a protein shake, she was still smiling at him.

“Thank you,” she said graciously as she dabbed his chin with the washcloth. “Also, just FYI—I know I don’t use my powers much these days, but for something like this, I wouldn’t have minded if you asked.”

What? How did her powers figure into… Oh.

Fuck.

Diego rested his cheek against the cool porcelain of the toilet. “I have a concussion,” he muttered.

Allison gave him a fond pat on the head.

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus and Ben were where he’d left them in the living room, talking in voices he couldn’t quite make out over the sound of the television.

Klaus saw him first, and turned his back to him.

“Uh-oh, guys, Diego’s here!” he said loudly. “Stop pretending to be nice to me, Ben! He hates that!”

Ben snatched up a book off the coffee table and buried his face in it.

Diego held back a sigh. They weren’t going to make this easy, were they?

Dave was kneeling on the floor, blotting at a pinkish stain on the rug in front of the sofa with paper towels. The smell of cranberry juice was in the air.

He looked up as Diego settled in between Ben and Klaus. “How’s your stomach?” he asked.

“Better.” He rolled his shoulders. “Empty. Now I’m hungry.”

Dave grinned at him. “Right back in the saddle, huh?”

“I could go find Mom and ask her to make you something,” Klaus offered. He moved like he was going to stand up, but then stretched out his legs and leaned further back into the sofa. “Oh, wait. That would be nice, and we don’t do that here.”

Dave shook his head in amusement and resumed trying to salvage the rug.

Ben turned a page in his book, silent.

Diego flexed one of his feet. His big toe cracked. “I sent Luther on a quest for paint thinner,” he tried. Nobody responded. “So. That’s kind of funny. I thought.”

Klaus nodded. “Yes, very mean,” he agreed. “Good work.”

“It’s not mean,” Diego protested. “He kept asking if I needed anything. He _wanted_ to—“

He stopped at the sour look on Klaus’s face.

“He wanted to what, Diego?” he pressed. “He wanted to help you? Which, as we all know, violates the family code of conduct? The absolute gall!”

Ben flipped another page. Diego was pretty sure he wasn’t even reading them.

“Forty lashes with a wet noddle for Luther!” Klaus declared.

Dave sighed at the floor.

Diego shifted on the couch and took a breath to steel himself. “Okay,” he said to Klaus, “look—I—that wasn’t…”

Klaus was steady giving him the stink eye. Alright. Time to divert course.

He turned to Ben and opened his mouth to speak.

Ben brought the book so close to his face it was almost touching his nose.

Diego glared up at the ceiling. What, was making fun of Luther suddenly not a good enough apology anymore? _Shit,_ these two had gotten needy.

“You’re both nice,” he said tersely. “I shouldn’t have said you weren’t nice. I take it back.”

There. He had groveled, and it was just as painful as he’d always thought it would be.

“I fucking washed your armpits for you, dude,” Ben muttered into his book.

Diego tilted his head at him. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

He looked at Klaus next. “And thank you for… uh…” Klaus raised an eyebrow in expectation. “For… whatever it was you did.”

“I made good suggestions and sent out positive vibes,” Klaus informed him.

“…Alright. Cool.”

Ben slowly closed his book and set it aside. “What do you want to eat?” he asked in a neutral tone.

Diego considered it. “Bread. Lots of bread. And cheese. Oreos with milk. Ice cream. Chips. And something fried, if we have the stuff to make that.”

Ben’s brows crept up his forehead while Dave and Klaus looked at one another.

“I… can pan-fry something, probably,” he offered after a moment. “I don’t know what.”

“As long as it’s greasy, I don’t care.”

“Okay.” A reluctant smile pulled at Ben’s lips. “I’m not holding your hair if you get sick again.”

Diego let his head fall back against the sofa and closed his eyes. “Eat a dick.”

“No thank you,” Ben said cheerfully. Diego felt the couch cushion shift as he stood up. “All the dicks are for you. I’ll be back in a bit.”

As he left the room, Klaus cleared his throat with a prim ‘a- _hem’_ and Diego cracked an eye open.

“What?”

Klaus turned sideways to face him, legs folded on the sofa. “Bath time? I’m not saying you smell, but I’m heavily implying it.”

He really would have preferred a shower. But… whatever. It would make Klaus happy, he guessed.

“Alright,” Diego agreed. “Fine.”

“Great!” Klaus clapped his hands. “I’ll get the good towels, and I’ll let you use one of my bath bombs, too, because I am a very, _very_ nice person.”

“The fuck is a bath bomb?”

Klaus gasped. “You don’t know what a _bath bomb_ is?” He lunged forward and seized Diego’s hands. “You sad, sweaty little gumdrop! Don’t worry, I’ll get you out from that rock you live under and show you the way to a better life. I have this one called Tropical Unicorn—“

“Wait, are bath bombs those things that keep leaving glitter at the bottom of the tub?”

“—and it’s supposed to smell like hibiscus and mango—“

“I’m not bathing in glitter.”

“—and I was saving it because it’s almost too pretty to use, but this is a special occasion.”

“Let go of me.”

Klaus released his hands, but leaned in to flick his nose. “You’ll love it,” he promised as he scrambled off the sofa. “Smelling like hibiscus and mango is way better than smelling like a foot. I know from personal experience.”

He sailed out of the room, making up a song about tropical unicorns as he went.

Diego groaned. “I fucking hate mangoes,” he complained to Dave.

Dave took his time gathering up the wet paper towels and rising to his feet. When he looked down at Diego, it was without his usual smile.

“You don’t have to like mangoes,” he said mildly. “All you have to do is take a bath and eat dinner. And then tell Klaus his fancy unicorn water was rad, and tell Ben the food he made you was good, and then everyone will be happy, and nobody will have a problem. Right?”

Diego eyed him up. There was nothing threatening in his tone or his stance, but…

_‘…I’d kick the shit out of him, because ghosts don’t get tired, and you can’t knock us out.’_

“Right,” he agreed, a little wary.

Dave’s face split into a beatific smile. He clapped his shoulder.

“Good. Off you go, I can hear the tub running.”

{}{}{}{}{}

Diego’s mood mellowed considerably after cleaning up and eating.

He was currently lying on the sofa in the living room, legs kicked across Ben’s lap while he read. Klaus was practicing nail art at the coffee table, first on Allison, and then on Dave.

Some cop show was playing in the background with the closed captioning for the blind turned on. Every time Diego tried to look at the screen, Ben punched his leg.

It was peaceful, and warm, and he was just about to doze off when Five sauntered in with a smile that sent a chill down his spine.

“What did you do?” Ben asked immediately. 

“Hello to you, too,” said Five. He zapped himself into an armchair and crossed one leg over his knee. “I trust you’re all having a nice evening.”

He gestured to Vanya, who was slouched against the doorframe. “We’ve had a nice evening ourselves.”

Vanya made a closed-mouth sound of irritation. Her cheeks were splotched pink, the way they got after she’d been yelling.

Allison regarded him with naked suspicion as she blew on her nails. “Where have you been?”

“Here.” Five began taking off his coat. His movements were languid and content, like a man who had just finished a good meal. “We got home around ten minutes after you did, and we haven’t left the house since. I was in my bedroom, reading. Vanya was sitting down here with you all. Someone tell her what this TV show is about.”

“Ooh, are we setting up an alibi?” Klaus pushed the nail polish aside and rested his chin in his hands to listen. “This is gonna be good.”

Diego sat upright on the sofa, only kicking Ben a little in the process. “What the fuck did you do, Five?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Five said airily.

His smile would haunt Diego’s dreams that night.

Ben turned to the door. “Vanya,” he said. “Vanya, what happened?”

Her nostrils flared. “We—“

“I knew we had paint thinner!” Luther barreled through the other door covered in brick dust, holding a can aloft in triumph. “I found it!”

“Oh.” Diego rubbed at his shoulder. “Alright. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Luther lowered his arms, smiling. “So. You’re still feeling okay, then?”

While Diego glowered at him, Klaus waved at Vanya.

“Tell us the story,” he pressed. “What happened? Was there blood? Crying? Nudity?”

 _“Nothing_ happened,” Five said, inspecting his nails.

Vanya’s cheeks turned anger-pink again in the face of his denial.

“We waited in the parking lot until the guy you fought came outside,” she informed Diego in clipped tones. “Five _said_ he just wanted to yell at him for cheating.”

Her gaze flicked to Five and stayed there, as though she was trying to bore holes into him. “But instead he jumped up to the roof and threw a can of Flexorade at his head.”

Klaus squealed in delight and Ben sank down into the couch with a long sigh. Luther stared at Five with open horror.

Diego fingered a throw pillow thoughtfully. “Was the can empty or full?”

Allison shot him a look of disbelief. He shrugged.

“Full,” Five told him. He looked over at Vanya. “You’re fired from being my accomplice, by the way. I’ll be my own getaway driver next time.”

 _“Good,”_ she hissed.

Allison was wearing her best Mom Frown. “Five, you can’t _do_ things like that. I mean, the roof must be like what, twenty feet off the ground? You really could have hurt him.”

“I know,” he said smugly.

Klaus stretched out his legs. “Well, I think it’s the best revenge scheme I’ve heard in years,” he said. “You know, an eye for an eye, a concussion for a concussion. Old Testament justice!”

“An illegal throw for an illegal punch,” Ben chipped in with obvious disapproval.

“Exactly! Because you guys committed a crime! Oh my God, it works on so many levels. I love it!”

Vanya stared bleakly into the middle distance.

Diego knew he should be pissed. At all of them, honestly—he didn’t need coddling, or cuddling, or anybody to fight his battles for him. No lullabies, no Tylenol, no reminders to avoid looking at flickering lights. He didn’t need paint thinner _that_ bad, and he definitely didn’t need to smell like a tropical unicorn.

He really, truly did not need any of their bullshit ‘help.’ It was fucking insulting, frankly.

“Next time you do something like that, tell me first,” he said to Five. “What’s the point if I’m not even there to watch?”

Five nodded once. “Noted.”

Dave leaned back on his hands, the tiny strawberries Klaus had painted on his fingernails glistening wet in the light. “You guys are a trip,” he said, sounding thoroughly entertained. “All of you.”

“I’m not a trip,” Luther mumbled under his breath.

Allison scrubbed a weary hand over her face. “Okay,” she sighed. “Okay, let’s just figure out what we’re going to say if the cops show up, alright? Did anyone see you?”

Diego nestled back down into the sofa while an argument broke out around him about the legal repercussions of lying to the police.

Maybe he didn’t _need_ their help, but he guessed he could accept it, if it was that fucking important to them.

They were trying. And coming up short, but still.

He saw the value in the effort.

“—recognizes you at the rematch?” Luther was asking Five in a stern tone. “What are you going to do then?”

Diego opened one eye. “What? Rematch?”

Luther started to sit next to Allison on the loveseat, but quickly stood back up at the groaning sound it made.

“Yeah.” He cast a rueful look at the furniture. “I know it’s not scheduled yet, but he isn’t going to just forget that somebody threw a drink can at him.”

“No,” Vanya agreed crossly. “He’s not.”

Five frowned a little at her tone, like it was beginning to occur to him that she might not enjoy assault and battery quite as much as he did.

“Who said anything about a rematch?” Diego demanded.

God, how _did_ Luther think boxing worked? Automatic do-overs were not a thing that existed.

“Oh.” Allison’s brow creased. “Is there not going to be one? I guess I assumed there would be.”

Klaus’s head snapped up from where he was fixing a smudged spot on Dave’s nails. “You have to have a rematch!” he said in disbelief. “I didn’t fight for this country so that people could cheat at amateur boxing and get away with it!”

“It _is_ kind of bullshit,” said Ben. He closed his book on one finger and let his head loll against the back of the couch. “You spent a whole month getting ready for this match. It just seems like you should get to actually have it.”

“And _we_ spent a whole month listening to every detail of your workout regimen,” Five added drily. “Three minutes of fighting wasn’t nearly enough payoff.”

“Liberty and justice for all!” Klaus swung an arm around and splatted green nail polish in an arc across the floor as he did so. “Four score and seven years ago! Attica! Somebody remind me how the Constitution starts!”

Dave reached up and pulled his hand back down to reality. “Relax, sweetheart.”

Diego eyed Vanya. She wouldn’t come to one of his fights again. She’d probably only come to this one because Allison had nagged at her. Allison was good for that.

Vanya whetted her lips. “I don’t think he got a good look at us,” she said, meeker than he’d expected given how ferocious she’d been just a moment ago. “I… Diego, I’m _so sorry._ Don’t skip it because of us, Five and I can sit at the back and maybe he won’t see us, or… we can just… not go? If that’s what you want?”

Five’s frown deepened as Luther gave him a look of condemnation.

Diego shrugged against the couch cushions and let his eyes drift shut. “It’s a free country,” he said without much interest, although a thrill was already running through him.

Hargreeves vs. Stevenson Redux was going to be one for the record books. He _knew_ it.

“I’ll tell Al to set up a rematch tomorrow. You can all come if you feel like it, I guess. I don’t care. D’you want the same seats, or…?”


	2. Expressway to Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Suppose that someone was upset with you, and you were trying to make peace. How might you accomplish that?”
> 
> “Apologizing."
> 
> “No.”  
> _________________
> 
> Five is doing his very best to reconcile with Vanya, but she's not making it easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A brief recap: At the end of the main story, Five told Vanya he wanted to confront the boxer who had sucker punched Diego and knocked him out. What he actually did was jump to the roof of the gym and throw a full sports drink can at his head, and then made Vanya be his getaway driver. She was Not Happy.
> 
> Also, a few relevant pieces of information from this series as a whole: Vanya has been slowly discovering that she's gay (because, come on) and there is a Random Old Man Ghost who hangs around the Academy trying to help the kids be less terrible at everything.

The clock on the microwave changed to 2 p.m. and the phone stayed silent, and Five couldn’t deny the truth any longer: Vanya had stood him up.

She must still be angry about the gym incident, he supposed. He’d thought she would be over it by now, seeing as it had happened two entire days ago and he had done nothing wrong, but Vanya had been known to hold a grudge.

Five sipped the coffee he had made for her, now gone cold.

They met up every Sunday at her apartment after she finished rehearsal with the orchestra. They didn’t do anything in particular—he would toy with equations while she cleaned her bathroom or made her grocery list, one of them would pick a record to play, they would talk or not talk, depending on the mood.

It was the best part of his week.

Spending time with the rest of their siblings could be enjoyable, too, of course, but there was always constructive criticism involved _._ _‘You don’t have to be so sarcastic’_ or _‘Would it kill you to say please?’_ He should participate in group activities more often. He’d had enough caffeine for the day. It was his fault they didn’t understand theoretical physics when he tried to explain what he was working on, and, apparently, jumping out of rooms mid-conversation was a hanging offense.

Vanya didn’t give a fuck about any of it. She took him exactly as she found him, and it surprised Five, sometimes, how much he needed that.

He stared hard at her phone, willing her to call and say that she had just gotten tied up with something and was on her way home now.

She didn’t.

He let out an impatient sigh and drained the coffee. No choice but to find a way to mollify her, he supposed.

Luckily, he knew just what to do.

{}{}{}{}{}

Vanya was washing her dishes when Five jumped into her kitchen the next morning, and she dropped a plate into the sink in surprise.

“Oh.” Her gaze flicked down to the soapy water that had splashed across her shirt and onto the floor. “Hi.”

She did not sound pleased to see him, but that was about to change.

“Here.” Five held out the shopping bag in his hand. “I brought you something.”

She wiped her hands on her jeans and took it from him with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“Um.” Her mouth twisted into a small frown as she examined the contents. “…A bunch of lightbulbs?”

“I noticed yesterday that one of your lamps burned out,” Five told her with a touch of pride. “Now you have extras.”

There. How could she stay angry when he was being so thoughtful?

Vanya lowered the bag and stared at him for a long moment.

“Okay,” she said with a shake of her head. “Well… thanks. I guess.”

“You are very welcome,” Five told her politely. He jumped to her cabinets and began rooting around for peanut butter. “What time is your first lesson today?”

“One.” He heard the soft rustling of plastic as she set the bag down. “But I was just about to go grocery shopping.”

Five abandoned his search and jumped to the table. “Alright,” he said, already digging in his jacket pocket. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I will.” He pulled out his keys and crooked his finger through the ring. “Ready?”

Vanya lifted her chin. “I don’t need a ride,” she told him, oddly forceful.

Five frowned at her. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

The silence that stretched between them felt awkward.

“I’ll get going, then, I suppose.” He rocked back on his heels. “You need peanut butter, by the way.”

Vanya took her coat off the back of a chair and began putting it on. “Actually,” she said, her voice cool, “I don’t really eat peanut butter. So I’m good.”

And with that, she turned her back to him.

Five narrowed his eyes. Had she even looked at the lightbulbs he’d gotten her? They were the energy-efficient kind. They were _good lightbulbs._

“You’ll let yourself out?” she asked.

“…Sure.”

Fuck. Back to the drawing board.

{}{}{}{}{}

Vanya was sitting at the table drinking tea when Five jumped into her kitchen the next morning, and she promptly began choking on it.

“Here.” He held out a box to her as she coughed. “I brought you something.”

She made no move to take it, so he dropped it onto the table and opened it himself.

“It’s a new ribbon for your typewriter,” he announced, triumphant. “Your old one is getting worn out.”

There. Who else paid such close attention to her needs? No one, that was who.

She wiped a tear from her eye. “I didn’t notice,” she said in a raspy voice. “I don’t use my typewriter all that much.”

“Ah. Well, it needs a new ribbon.” He rattled the box. “So here.”

 _“You_ use it a lot, though,” she pointed out.

Five frowned. She pursed her lips. 

Fuck!

{}{}{}{}{}

Vanya wasn’t there when Five jumped into her kitchen the next morning, which suited his purposes just fine.

He had work to do.

An hour later, with grease smeared up to his elbows and the scent of lye burning his nose, he heard a key turning in the front door.

Vanya stepped into the room moments later, and froze dead in her tracks.

“Um. Five? What are you doing?”

He threw down his sponge and scooted backwards on the floor.

“Cleaning your oven,” he said like it was no big deal, even though it was obviously a very helpful and considerate thing to do. “It was looking rough.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s… it’s the self-cleaning kind.”

…Oh.

Five strummed his fingers on his knee. “Well, now it’s cleaner than ever.”

“No, Five—” Vanya pressed a hand to her temple. “You’re not supposed to use regular oven cleaner on it.”

_…Oh._

Five peered into the back. It looked perfectly normal from where he was sitting. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Vanya said, distressed. “The landlady just said not to when I moved in.”

She looked at her phone, face drawn tight. “I guess… I guess I’ll have to call her and ask what to do now.”

“No need.” Five rose to his feet and began wiping grease off his hands onto the old T-shirt he’d worn for the occasion. “We can call the house and ask Mom. She’ll probably know.”

He jumped to where the phone sat on the wall, but Vanya was skittering in behind him a split second later and snatching it from his hands.

“I’ll call,” she said, pressing the receiver into her chest. “Or… Maybe you can go back there and ask her to call me?”

“No,” he insisted as he tried to prize her fingers off, “she’ll answer.”

Vanya wrapped her arms around herself in defense.

“Five,” she said firmly. “Go home.”

Her jaw was set. She had the phone wedged in between her breasts, where he was certainly not about to stick his hand.

He studied her face, weighing his options.

“I filled up your ice cube trays.”

_“Leave.”_

FUCK!

{}{}{}{}{}

Klaus’s bedroom door was wide open, but Five hovered right outside of it, curious.

He and Ben were both sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing one another. Klaus had his fingers pinched in a meditation pose over his knees, wearing a look of intense concentration.

“Bippity boppity boom,” he intoned. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

Five stiffened in indignation, because he wasn’t even _in_ Klaus’s room, but then Klaus’s eyes fluttered open and he frowned at Ben.

“You’re still here,” he noted in disappointment.

Ben shrugged. “Sorry, dude.”

Five cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”

Klaus whipped around to face him and gasped. “Sacre bleu! A peeping tom!”

“Klaus is trying to banish me,” Ben explained.

Five stepped over the threshold. “Why are you trying to banish Ben?” he demanded, a little alarmed. “ _Where_ are you trying to banish Ben?”

Klaus did spirit fingers. “Another plane of existence.”

“The backyard.”

“A realm of consciousness far beyond our mortal ken.”

“No, definitely the backyard.”

Klaus threw Ben a sulky look and dropped his hands to the bedspread. “We’re practicing before I start school,” he said, sullen. “I need to be able to send ghosts to the time-out corner fast so I don’t miss anything in class.”

Ben nudged his knee with the toe of his shoe. “You’ll get it,” he promised. “The old guy is _still_ stuck in the attic, you know. You couldn’t do that a few weeks ago.”

Satisfied that Klaus wasn’t going to accidentally erase Ben from existence—that Klaus couldn’t even deliberately erase Ben from existence, from the sound of it— Five cleared his throat again.

“While you two are taking a break, I had a question. Suppose that someone was upset with you, and you were trying to make peace. How might you accomplish that?”

“Apologizing,” said Ben.

“No.”

He regretted nothing. Vanya being angry was simply an unwanted side effect of the completely reasonable course of action he had taken.

“Saving them from a burning building,” Klaus suggested.

Five gave him a dirty look.

“Saving them from a sinking ship?”

Ben uncrossed his legs and stretched them out. “I think telling Vanya you’re sorry is the only thing that’ll work, dude. She was pretty mad.”

Five’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Who said anything about Vanya?”

“Or you could give them candy, flowers… Voodoo dolls of their enemies are always good… Everyone loves a fresh pair of socks…”

“Well, who else is pissed off at you?” Ben asked sardonically. He paused for a second. “Wait. _Is_ someone else pissed off at you?”

“…and whenever Ben was mad at me, I used to get a scratch ticket…”

Ben turned to Klaus, brow furrowed in confusion. “What was that?”

“Oh, yeah.” Klaus flapped a hand and leaned back into his pillows. “You remember. Whenever you were giving me the silent treatment, I’d buy a dollar ticket and put it in my pocket, and then eventually you’d start bugging me to scratch it. Worked like a charm.”

Ben played with his zipper, looking a little put out. “They always just seemed like fun.”

Five coughed to get their attention. “So. Neither of you have any suggestions?”

“I just gave you like, twenty,” Klaus pointed out.

“Neither of you have any _good_ suggestions?”

“Tell Vanya you’re sorry, you asshole,” said Ben.

Five sighed and jumped to the library.

Beyond useless, the both of them.

{}{}{}{}{}

Five found himself face-to-face with Allison when he jumped into Vanya’s kitchen the next morning, and she looked every inch as surprised as he felt.

“Oh!” she said after a few seconds. “Fancy meeting you here! I guess we just missed each other leaving the house, huh?”

A hair dryer was humming away in the bathroom.

“I guess so.” Five put his plastic bag on the table, and eyed the paper bag Allison held. “What’s that?”

“Mexican breakfast bagels,” she told him, her voice almost reverent. “This place down the street makes them, and Vanya and I both sort of got addicted.”

She put her bag down next to his. Hers was bigger. For reasons Five couldn’t begin to explain, that fact irked him immensely.

“You should have told us you were coming over,” Allison said as she pulled out a chair. “I would have gotten you something to eat, too.”

‘Us?’ What the fuck was that about? He wasn’t the third wheel here, _she_ was.

“You can have some of my bagel if you want, but I know you don’t really do spicy stuff.”

“I already ate.”

“Oh, alright.” Allison laughed a little. “We both get territorial over these bagels, anyway. It’s crazy how good they are.”

Five narrowed his eyes at her. She was _not_ going to use spicy breakfast food to usurp his place as first in Vanya’s affections. He wouldn’t allow it.

Allison smiled back at him. She looked uncomfortable.

The hair dryer cut off and a door down the hall creaked open, and then Vanya padded barefoot into the kitchen. She didn’t seem startled to see them. With her enhanced hearing, Five supposed he was the only person on the planet who could still sneak up on her.

“Morning,” she greeted Allison.

Her eyes darted in his direction, and with noticeably less warmth, she said, “Five.”

“Hi!” Allison chirped, already tearing open the bag she’d brought. “Look what I got for breakfast!”

Vanya’s mouth tugged into a smile when Allison produced a bagel. “Oh, cool. Thank you.”

Five hastily snatched his bag up and began digging through it. “I got you something, too,” he said. “Here.”

Vanya stared at the present in his hand. “…A scratch ticket?”

“Yes,” Five told her, pleased with himself.

It had seemed like a ridiculous idea at first, since the odds of winning any significant amount of money were astronomically low. But after further consideration, he’d realized that scratch tickets weren’t meant to be functional gifts—they were sentimental ones.

By buying her this scratch ticket, he was telling her that he placed her happiness above his own good sense. He was telling her that he was willing to throw his money straight into the trash so that she might have a few fleeting moments of excitement. And a miniscule chance at winning up to $500.

This scratch ticket was tangible proof of his love.

“You can keep it.”

Five blinked.

“It’s just, I don’t really play the lottery,” Vanya explained. “And I don’t even know where I’d go to cash it around here, if I won something? So. You keep it.”

“You probably aren’t going to win anything anyway.” He slid the ticket across the table. “Here. Scratch it.”

Vanya hugged her elbows with all of her typical awkwardness, but there was resolve in her tone. “No thank you.”

“I’ll scratch it,” offered Allison.

“No,” Five snapped. He thrust the ticket at Vanya. “It’s a gift. Take it.”

“I don’t want it.”

“I bought it for you.”

“No one asked you to do that.”

Allison leaned across the table. “Can I scratch it?” Her smile was uneasy. “Please?”

_“No.”_

With a soft, annoyed huff, Vanya reached down and plucked the ticket from Five’s outstretched hand.

Pure relief washed over him, that _finally_ she was going to be reasonable and things would return to normal—and then she gave it to Allison.

“It’s still your ticket,” Allison assured her, sneaking a leery glance at Five. “I’m only, um… doing the hard part for you. Okay, wish me luck!”

No one wished her luck. They both just watched in stony silence as she scraped it with the side of her thumbnail.

She finished and took a few moments to scrutinize the symbols with all the focus of someone trying to decipher hieroglyphics.

“You won another scratch ticket,” she announced.

Irritation flickered across Vanya’s face. “Great. I’ll have to find someplace that does the lottery, I guess.”

Well. That hadn’t gone quite how Five had imagined it. He supposed he couldn’t fault her for being annoyed, though—it had turned out to be less of a gift and more of an errand.

Good thing he had a back-up plan.

“I’ll redeem it for you. And there’s something else,” he told her, digging again into his bag. “I thought you might need some fresh socks.”

Vanya sighed and accepted the bagel Allison was offering her without comment.

_FUCK!_

{}{}{}{}{}

Vanya was kissing a woman he had never met when Five jumped into her kitchen late that night, and she stumbled away with a startled gasp.

“Five,” she breathed, eyes wide, voice stricken.

Five surveyed her companion in silence. Was Vanya dating her? Did Vanya date women? He’d really had no idea.

The stranger slung an arm around Vanya’s shoulder for balance. “Issis the one who can teleport?” she slurred curiously. “Aw, he’s dressed like a lil’ professor!”

“I… I didn’t know you were coming over,” Vanya whispered. Her face was deathly white except for the coral smear of someone else’s lipstick around her mouth, down her neck.

“Lookit his lil’ sweater vest!”

Five shoved his hands into his pockets. “I needed to talk to you. I was hoping to catch you after your pool match.”

The drunk woman squawked with joy. “We won! ‘M’celebrating!”

Vanya took a breath and turned around to face her. “Okay, Katie… maybe you should go to bed.”

“Nooo, I wanna meet your brother!”

“Bed,” Vanya insisted. She cupped the woman’s elbows gently. “Come on.”

“Oh, al- _right.”_ Katie giggled and tried to tap Vanya’s nose, but missed and poked at a random spot under her left eye. “You’re the boss!”

Vanya’s ears flamed pink as she led her towards her bedroom. Five didn’t know what that was about, and he was entirely certain that he didn’t want to.

He pulled out a chair at the table and sat, trying to get his thoughts in order. The conversation they were about to have was going to be… difficult, but there was no avoiding it.

Vanya emerged from her room what felt like hours later, though it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes. She stopped in the doorway and wrapped her arms around herself. The ugly yellow glow of the kitchen light made her seem washed out and ill, and Five couldn’t recall a time when she had looked so fragile.

She whetted her lips. “Well,” she said, in a low, tremulous voice. “Is… is there anything you want to say?”

“Yes.” Five folded his hands and leaned forward in his seat. “In the interest of putting what happened at the boxing match behind us, I’m willing to let you take one free swing at me. But it needs to be above the waist, and you can only use your fist. No weapons.”

There. The elephant in the room had been addressed.

He should have done this days ago. He felt better already, having acknowledged the tensions between them out in the open like that.

Vanya’s thoughts on the matter were a mystery, but watching the expressions playing across her face, Five was reminded of a slow motion video of a train derailment he’d once seen.

_“…What?”_

He crossed his arms on the table. “One free punch. That’s my final offer, take it or leave it.”

“But… Five, you…” She rubbed a hand over her temple, looking lost. “I meant do you have anything to say about me and... and Katie?”

“Oh.” He thought about it. “Not particularly, no.”

Vanya just stared at him. There was something vulnerable in her eyes, he thought, something that called for more tact and tenderness than he probably possessed—but for her, he could try.

“You can go home with anybody you like,” he told her. “So long as they treat you well and you enjoy their company, I could care less who they are.”

The tightness in her shoulders eased a fraction.

“She does treat you well?” he prompted. “And you do enjoy her company?”

After a few seconds, she gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah, she… We, um…” She cleared her throat. “Yes to both.”

Five relaxed into his chair. “Good.”

They were both quiet. Vanya’s gaze was trained on the floor, but her face had gone slack with relief.

“So. Do you want to punch me or not?”

She huffed softly, and he couldn’t tell if she was amused or frustrated. “No. I just… _Five._ You really could have gotten us both in trouble, you know?”

Her eyes rose to meet his. “I mean… Besides the fact that you could’ve hurt… whatever his name was, we might have gotten arrested. And then I’d lose all my students, probably, and maybe my spot in the orchestra, too. And—and you _lied_ to me, about what you were going to do.”

Five rested his elbows on the table, frowning. “I wouldn’t let you get arrested. That’s _why_ I lied. If the police had caught up with us, we would both tell them that I misrepresented my intentions and acted alone. The less you knew, the better.”

Vanya shuffled her feet in uncertainty. “I don’t… I’m not sure it works like that.”

“I beg to differ.” He scoffed. “No offense, but no one is going to mistake you for a hardened criminal, Vanya.”

Her expression clouded, mistrustful.

“It was never my intention to upset you,” he added. “I’m… sorry.”

He winced a little at how uncomfortable the word felt in his mouth. Why couldn’t she just have agreed to punch him? Jesus.

“…Yeah?” She studied his face, and seemed more or less satisfied with whatever it was that she’d found there. “Okay. Just… don’t ever do anything like that again. Alright?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

If he needed assistance with a similar operation in the future, Klaus would be a better option. Or maybe Luther. Luther was easy to trick, and talked a lot less.

“And, um…” Vanya chewed at her bottom lip. “If you could… not mention Katie to anyone else, that would… I’d appreciate it. For now.”

Five cocked a brow. “They don’t know?”

She shook her head.

“Not even Allison?”

“No.”

He nodded in satisfaction. “Alright. I won’t bring it up. Though for the record, I sincerely doubt anyone would take issue with it.”

Vanya tugged at her shirt sleeves. “I know, but… It’s just new, still, and I, um. I’m not… ready to… whatever.”

“Understood.”

Vanya smiled at him. It was the first real smile he’d seen from her in over a week, and it made his chest feel warm.

Five started to rise from his chair, then stopped. “Oh. Here, before I forget.”

He dug into his back pocket and produced a five dollar bill. “The proceeds from your free scratch ticket,” he explained, sliding it across the table.

“Oh,” she said. “It won? Well… I guess it’s yours really, isn’t it? I mean. You picked it out and scratched it off, so…”

“Ben picked it out and scratched it off, if you want to be technical about it.” He snorted. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble I had getting the money from him.”

He was fortunate that _he_ couldn’t be haunted by the dead, honestly. Ben had not been pleased with him.

Vanya tilted her head. “What do you mean?” she asked with some trepidation. “You didn’t… _steal_ it from him, did you?”

“Of course not,” Five assured her. “It wasn’t his to steal. I told him he could scratch the ticket, not keep the winnings. If he assumed otherwise, that’s his problem.”

At the hard look on Vanya’s face, he waved a breezy hand. “Just a small misunderstanding. He’ll get over it.”

He got up and fished through his pocket for his keys. “I’ll wish you a good night, then. You’re sure you don’t want to hit me? Last chance. You might never get another one.”

Vanya stared at the five dollar bill and massaged her forehead.

“...Let me think about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that when Vanya's (kinda sorta) gf formally met Diego a few stories ago, she started screaming because she thought he was a murderer, and now the first time she's met Five she was drunk as shit and made fun of him. Clearly, this is a woman who has mastered the art of the first impression. I hope Vanya introduces her to the rest of the family soon, because I can imagine no scenario in which that doesn't go absolutely perfectly.

**Author's Note:**

> Diego: Yeah, so after my match I guess some random dude took a picture of us all together because I pointed a knife at him and said 'Take a picture of us all together' and he doesn't know a joke when he hears one, and it turned out okay. Wouldn't it be lame if we put it in a scrapbook? We should start a family scrapbook as a joke. So lame. I'm thinking blue background and gold borders. Lots of puffy paint. SO LAME.
> 
> A n y w a y, I was thinking of maybe adding a short second chapter about Five trying to get back into Vanya's good graces? He needs to learn at some point that violence is not the answer. And neither is tricking your sister into being an accessory to a crime.


End file.
